A straight guy I hadn’t seen in several months said as his first response, “I like your hair.” He’s actually a friend, or at least I feel comfortable calling him up anytime to grab lunch, but his comment creeped me out. “What about my hair?” I asked. He switched topics. Of course, hair is personal. I remember when I had a few months gathered in sobriety and I went to an acquaintance who I met in AA. How cool is that–an AA hair professional. He was new to sobriety himself. After I gently requested four specific details in the haircut, I picked up a magazine and began reading. A while later I looked up and saw that he had early-sobriety-syndrome; in other words, he had not listened to a word I said and instead just cut away based on his own decisions. My hair was probably a half inch all over my head–maybe the shortest I’ve ever had it. Woo hoo! I actually loved it and felt incredibly free sporting the new do all around. Nothing what I expected though–which is true of most my experiences in sobriety.
Yet what a reaction. The personal had turned political. At work several gay colleagues appreciated the coming out statement the haircut made. A four-year-old little girl I know said that I look like a man and winced then gave me a hug. At the Pacific Heights church where I am on some Sundays a caregiver to younger children, the reaction was startled glances. In fact, this is where my straight friend works and so he was happy to see that I returned with the more socially acceptable longer hair. Other folks who know me well at the church said, “You’re letting your hair grow out” with a beaming smile. Code for what, I’m not sure. I actually adore these parents because in many ways they have been super supportive to me and the group is a substantial size; in short, I need their smiles–they buoy me.
In reality, why have I let my hair grow? Simply vanity. My goal is to learn how to surf and I think stepping out of the water I will look more cool with moderately long hair compared to a shorter cut.
But I am not the only one caught in the headlights of mainstream straight culture assessing hair. The hilarious comedian Chris Rock is now starring in a documentary titled, “Good Hair.” The film analyzes why black women make the hair choices they do. And some are based on racism. For example, black women often by a product called the “relaxer,” which makes curly hair straight–that is, similar to caucasian hair. In class the other night we read an essay titled “My First Conk” by Malcolm X that so artfully links this young man’s hairstyle choice and internalized racism. He completely straightens out his kinky hair.
Not to pretend I can imagine how racism plays out day to day, but maybe I have something a touch similar–internalized sexism. I mean I felt more free in some inarticulate way with the half-inch hairdo, but now I’m sporting the more socially acceptable hetero-mandated stamp of approval hairdo. Sense some residual resentment there; and in my world that means I need to look at my part or responsibility for that. Stay tuned. The real test will probably be photos taken in Hawaii during this Christmas (if I wind up venturing there) as I exit the ocean after surfing. Do they look cool? Or is the long hair thang not working?
All of which brings me to the baby boy I just saw in Target with no hair. I would toss out a guess that one out of ten babies truly looks clear eyed and alert. I’m constantly taking clandestine peeks in bassinets to see a baby’s eyes and facial gestures. Most are less than sharp. But this little guy was alive–couldn’t have been more than six months old. I usually look to the baby first if possible and then to the parent. Sure enough his pops had bags under his eyes but looked as fresh and alert as junior. The baby registered the big guys every move, expecting more fun since his dad was playing a game with him utilizing a balloon. So awesome that at this age no matter what race a baby is–hair doesn’t matter. Parents are simply happy if some exists. Amazing that as we enter the world and as we exit it, we all get a free pass on hairdos. Nobody tells grandma that her hairstyle isn’t working. Nobody.
